Hetalia 911
by Dreampainter97
Summary: "You know where you were." A statement uttered throughout the country of America, regarding the memories of the tragic event that occurred on that one fateful September morning. Everyone knows where they were when they learned about the attack on the World Trade Center in NYC. But where was America? Rated T for violence and gore. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hetalia characters, and if in some way I offend someone somehow through this topic (not sure how I could, but people can be offended easily with a topic like this) I apologize in advance. **

America yawned loudly and set his head in his hand, resting it on the table with his elbow. His eyes drifted shut for a moment as he sat in the meeting room, and he didn't really bother to open them again. Germany was talking about something to do with relations in the Middle East, and the American could tell that some of the countries were shooting glares at him as Germany spoke, but he paid no mind, sometimes even winking back at them in return.

_Oh my God!_ America thought as he yawned again. _When does this meeting end? Ten? What time is it now?_ He looked around lazily for a clock in the mostly windowed room. One wall had no windows, and the door that led to sweet freedom. A clock next to it claimed it to be 8:30. _Bluh_, America rolled his eyes and decided to stare out the window instead. _How come I had to host this meeting, and had to make it so __**long**__? There's a __**perfectly**__ good McDonalds right around the corner from here!_

He stared vacantly at the New York City Skyline; it was a wonderful view, really, but America had a slightly short attention span when it came to the beauty of things. He stared at the Statue of Liberty for a moment, then the World Trade Center Towers, then at some of the small ant-like people scurrying about in the sunny morning hustle, attempting to get through all of the chaos that a major city like this brings. While he stared, he heard someone knock on the door.

_That's strange_, America thought. _Who interrupts a world meeting? Other than China, of course. _But he turned to see who it was, anyway, hoping it would give him something to do. Turns out, two of his secretaries were standing rigidly at the doorway, no expression eminent on their faces.

"America?" Germany asked, slightly annoyed at the interruption. "Vat is going on here?"

America shrugged and stood. "Beats me." Something inside his stomach was turning, though. Last time someone came and interrupted a meeting for him, it was when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Of course, that was the one time Japan didn't come to a world meeting, but still. Everyone was present, so he hoped something wasn't wrong. He walked to the door and the secretary whispered, "_Sir, I encourage you not to get onto any flights until further notice._"

"But I'm supposed to get onto my flight to Boston right after this meeting, right?" America whispered back, keeping an eye on the other countries that were watching him curiously from where they sat.

"_Yes,_" the other secretary mumbled. "_And we've had a security breach in the Boston Airport, but I assure you everything is under control. The flights have just been momentarily cancelled._"

"Is anyone hurt?" America asked.

"_No sir,_" the man replied. "_But we wanted to let you know that you could spend some time here in New York City before the flight – which has been rescheduled for four o'clock._"

"Roger," America said, smiling. _So I can visit that McDonalds. Sweet!_ But something still didn't settle in his stomach. "Wait, why did you interrupt a meeting to tell me this?"

"_We are heading out for a moment, due to the cancellation, and wouldn't have been able to tell you this sooner._"

"Fair enough," America shrugged, all uneasiness disappearing. "See you dudes later then!" And they walked off stiffly, almost shoulder to shoulder. America watched them go for a moment, before shutting the door and walking back to his seat.

"Everything alright?" Britain asked, seeming slightly apprehensive.

"Sure," America laughed. "They just came to tell me my flight's gonna be a little late."

"A stupid reason to interrupt a world meeting, aru," China mumbled. Then he glared at France. "Not like we were getting anywhere in the first place."

"Ah, don't look at me like zat!" France held up his hands defensively, his signature smirk twisting his mouth. "I vas merely suggesting zat perhaps Angleterre* should – "

"Repeat what you said, Frog, and so help me God I will _rip_ out your hair and shove it in your _mouth_!" Britain roared, his face turning red.

France laughed smugly before Germany stood up again. "Zat is enough! Shall ve continue zis meeting?"

His reply was mostly sighs, except for Italy, who was sitting next to him, and made a small "Ve~" sound.

America tuned out again as soon as Germany began his speech. He looked at the clock. _Dang! 8:39?! Is this meeting ever going to end?!_ He mumbled a few choice words under his breath that only Britain would ever dare say.

Someone next to him whispered something, and America turned to the seat he thought was empty next to him, to see a blond man hugging a polar bear tightly. _Woah, he looks like me! Wait…Who is that? Oh, Canada, right._ "Sorry, dude, what did you say?"

"I said," Canada said, trying to be a little louder. _Seriously, did he loose his vocal cords when he was little?_ "What's the matter?"

"Oh," America turned to look at the skyline across from him once more. "Just bored out of my mind, I guess."

Canada muttered a small 'oh' before turning back to Germany. America was a little disappointed that he wouldn't talk to him now; it gave him something to do. He looked back at the clock. 8:42.

_Good grief._

America fiddled with his pencil a little bit, doodling comic book heroes on the paper that was supposed to be for notes, and smiled as he finished up a Captain America drawing. He wasn't bad at drawing, at least, when it came to comic book characters. He looked up at the clock again. 8:46. _Wow, that had to be the fastest drawing I've ever done, _America thought proudly.

It took America a little bit to notice Germany had stopped talking. He was looking straight up at the ceiling, as if watching something overhead that only he could see. Strangely enough, some of the other countries were turning their heads to see what was going on. Then America heard it. It sounded like a loud whizzing sound, and he knew that sound all too well. A plane.

America wondered what the big deal was, until he realized that the sound was becoming _way_ too loud. Was a plane landing on top of their building? There was a shout, and everyone turned to look out the window, just in time to see a plane soar right by their building and towards the towers ahead.

Nobody had any time to think. It was going so fast, they had no idea what to do. It went right by them, deafening everyone in the room, but they didn't even have time to cover their ears.

They saw it hit the first tower.

America screamed loudly, pain suddenly searing through his right temple. He clutched it and struggled to stay on his feet. But he had to look back up at the scene. Countries were either rushing to America's aid, or staring blankly in their seats at the burning tower. The smoke billowed out of the North side, the heat from the fire almost burning them from here. He could see the people frantically trying to escape from the bottom of the building.

He let go of his head, aware of a thick liquid running down his cheekbone and in his fingers and hands where he held his head, and walked numbly toward the windows. Nobody tried to stop him, but moved out of his way. His eyes were blank for a while. He just stood there, watching in a detachment never before seen on the normally cheerful American. Something felt…_empty_.

He snapped out of it when he saw something he will never forget seeing. People. Jumping.

"_No,_" he mumbled, his eyes widening, fear finally sinking in. All of the countries watched in horror as people began to jump down from the top of the building in a desperate attempt to save their lives. They could see it from where they stood clearly, hearing the screams and cries of the people throughout the populated city. A woman was above the impact site, waving a white towel helplessly out her window.

His phone buzzed, and America pulled it out quickly. Putting it to the good side of his head, he heard Vice President Dan Quale say, "America, are you alright?"

"What's going on?" America demanded. "What's happened?"

"We aren't sure," the Vice President said, sounding a little weary. "We think it was some accident of some sort. Are you in New York right now?"

"Yes sir."

"Get out of there. You could get hurt."

"I'm not leaving."

"America –"

"No." America said with determination. "I'm not leaving."

All of the other countries stared at him, both surprised and… sympathetic? They could hear what the Vice President was saying, probably. His phone was held a little away from his ear, as his head was ringing from both pain and shock.

"Then what are you going to do?" the Vice President asked. "There's nothing you can do, America. It can't be helped. Just get out of there."

"No. Sir." America repeated, not even thinking about how much trouble he would be in later for dismissing an order from the Vice President, but at the moment he wouldn't have cared anyway. "I'm. Not. Leaving."

"But –" America hung up on him. He stared down at his phone for a moment, debating. His heart was racing and his adrenaline was pumping – he was feeling the fear of all of his people. Sudden anger made him clench his grip around the IPhone so tightly that it crushed in his palm. He glared daggers at the remains as he threw them on the floor. Looking back up at the Twin Towers, he noticed more people were jumping, and firefighters and policemen were gathering around at the base of the North Tower, trying to help evacuate people.

"America?" England asked hesitantly, placing a hand on his former charge's shoulder. "You alright, lad?"

America didn't acknowledge him. He stared out the window at the people, unable to move once more. _What can I do?_

Before Britain could ask again, another whizzing sound was heard, not quite as loudly as the first. America's head jerked upwards to see another plane coming in. He knew what was happening even before it made contact with the second tower. He shouted, "**NO!**" just before it hit. He stumbled backwards as the room was lit with the sudden burst of flames from outside, pieces of the building flying in all different directions as the huge explosion resonated throughout all of their heads. He clenched his left temple now, feeling more blood oozing out of his skull. But he didn't even seem to notice it.

He was too shocked for any other feeling.

Two towers in the same day? Only twenty minutes apart?

_I'm being attacked._

America was hunched over slightly, with Canada on one side of him, and England on the other. He paid them no mind. He watched the building go up in flames similarly to its companion, feeling his fear suddenly being replaced with an angry determination.

He bolted out of the building and down the stairs, trying not to run into the other people who were doing the exact same thing. He heard England calling for him, but continued to run out the building. Once he got outside, he looked up, his chest heaving for breath.

The view from below was even worse than from above. It was so _big_. He could see the other countries not bothering to leave the meeting room, watching him with panicked stares from above, and America ran towards the towers. People were watching from below in horror, some crying out the names of loved ones, others surveying the barbaric scene with dismay and grief. America stopped as well to watch with them. He wasn't able to do anything. He craned his head up as he had done so many times before to look at the buildings. But this time was different. Normally he would look up at them with pride, or even boredom, but this time, it was with the same expression as everyone else around him.

"America!" England shouted. America did not turn as England caught up to him, Canada right behind. "America!" England repeated, "We can't be here! We have to go!"

America didn't move. Something in his chest suddenly tightened, a pain that he knew meant something else was hit, but he tried to stay standing. He couldn't fall down.

_Will this ever stop?_

The other countries finally managed to get ahold of their senses and run down to the three English-speaking nations. Most of them stood around America in a circle, watching the towers burn with him almost protectively. Some of their people were there, too. He could see tears straining down all of the faces, even Romano, Germany, Japan, and Russia, as all of the countries silently watched the appalling scene. Small pops were heard from people finally hitting the ground from their devastating jumps, and officers were trying to usher people away and tend to those who were hurt. The countries around him did not waver. They wanted to help.

As helicopters buzzed around them, they watched for what could have been minutes or hours or even days. Time seemed to come to a standstill. Then, it happened.

The South Tower fell.

It came crumbling down, sounding like a deafening roar. It wasn't like what you would see in movies – where it would topple like a tree being cut down for lumber. It buckled in onto itself instead, looking more like a card tower when one of the base cards caving in. The countries all ran away, along with the rest of the people, but America fell to his knees for a moment, breathing heavily. He heard a little girl screaming, snapping him back into attention. A few of the countries were calling to him, ushering him onward, but America looked around. He saw a small girl in a tattered, dirty pink dress and messy pigtails crying out for her mother, looking around frantically. He gave no second thoughts, as the dust and debris was coming towards them like a wave. Most all of the countries left the scene, heading inside a café that had originally been closed (it opened around ten o'clock), until Germany kicked the door open and ushered everyone inside.

America grabbed the girl and ran, the debris beginning to smack into his back as dust began to cloud everything around him. He carried the child with one arm around her waist, and with the other took her dress collar and covered her mouth and nose to protect her from inhaling the smoke. He summersaulted into the building right before Germany closed the door, falling onto the floor and crouching over the young girl protectively. He could feel his back beginning to bleed as well – some debris hit him on the way in – but the little girl seemed fine, if not a little shaken.

America looked down at her to see if she was okay, then flopped onto his side, panting heavily and raggedly, the smoke and dust damaging his lungs critically. He coughed, feeling his throat almost tear open at the action. He felt something rise up out of his mouth and hit the floor. Once he caught his breath he saw blood mixed with saliva in front of him. England and Canada rushed to his side once again, England patting his shoulder (where no debris lodged itself into his skin) and Canada trying to calm him down with soft, inaudible words. America took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself, and wiped some of the blood off of his mouth. The little girl whimpered at the scene, and Italy and China attempted to comfort her.

America looked behind him. The dust clouded everything outside. There wasn't any daylight, any people. Just debris and dust. A large piece of metal flew by the windows, scratching them and breaking some open. All of the countries scurried to the back room, and England and Canada tried to get America to move, but he refused.

"Get…Get behind…With them…" America wheezed. "Go!" And with that, America jumped out of one of the shattered windows, getting completely swallowed by the dust. He knew he was immortal anyway, unless this attack would end the legacy of the United States. He didn't pause in his step as he thought about that, running around, looking for anyone that would be hurt or lost. He had a hard time seeing in front of him, and he pulled the collar of his shirt up to cover his nose, attempting to block the dust from irritating his nose and throat further. What if this was the end for America? What if the attacks hit somewhere else, like the White House? Or if whoever was doing this took over?

_Then I'll die being a hero,_ America thought with a determination that did not waver. He called out, "Is anyone there?!"

There was no reply. There was no wind, no nothing. Just dust and smoke. It was like a living Hell, but he continued anyway, searching for any survivors that might have made their way here. Suddenly, another huge crash resonated throughout the city, and he felt himself collapse once more. A new wave of dust and debris clashed into his weakened body, and he knew what had happened.

_The North Tower fell_.

He got up again, feeling his knees wobble underneath him. His temples were bleeding profusely, as was his back and his mouth, and he ducked behind a parked car as debris came flying out towards him.

"_HELP!_"

America started at the shrill scream of a woman.

"_HELP ME!_"

He jumped out from where he stood, running as fast as his quavering legs would carry him. "_HANG ON! I'M COMING!"_ He shouted into oblivion. "_KEEP SCREAMING! WHERE ARE YOU?"_

_ "I'M HERE!"_ The voice called back. He turned to his left (was it his left? He couldn't tell – the smoke and dust was too thick) and almost bumped into the woman. She appeared hurt, her arm was bleeding profusely.

He grabbed her bridal style and ordered, "Cover your face from the dust!" She did as she was told, appearing to be in a haze. Her body was covered in white soot, the only color on her were her eyes and blood. He ran back to where he thought he was before, passing by the car he hid behind earlier. For such a thick haze, America was good enough with directions to continue to the café shop that the other nations were hiding in. He jumped through the window quickly, his legs giving in at the fall inside, and he tossed the woman away from the shattered glass he fell into from the window, hoping it didn't hurt her too much. She landed with an "Oomph!" but still landed a little softer than America did onto the checkered floor.

"AMERICA!" he heard a British accent call. "OH THANK BLOODY GOODNESS! SOMEONE HELP THEM!"

America's eyes closed in exhaustion, and he felt his body heaving with every exhale as if his stomach was convulsing with the effort. Someone lifted him up and carried him somewhere gently and quickly, and he felt himself being set down gingerly, propped up against a wall.

"Are you alright, sir?" A male voice he did not recognize asked. "Stay awake, son. Don't fall asleep."

America opened his eyes slowly, having to blink heavily through the tears a few times, and found himself staring through his shattered glasses at a firefighter, accompanied by two police men and the other countries. The girl hugged the woman tightly once she was laid down next to America, crying profusely as the woman hushed her with sweet maternal words of comfort that came out ragged and was interrupted by many gasps for air. _Well whaddya know. That worked out well._

His body was so covered in soot and dust that he appeared completely white, like someone from a cartoon that had a sack of flour poured all over them. The crimson blood stuck out like a sore thumb against the white filth, and he coughed again. He began to cough uncontrollably, getting on his hands and knees and spitting out more blood. It made a smoker's cough sound like the sneeze of a kitten. He gasped for breath in between his fits, but it would only last a millisecond before he coughed again. Unable to catch his breath, his muscles twitched violently and he became light-headed.

"Here," the fireman gave him a bag of some sort to cough into. His choke sounded awful – painful and harsh. He felt hot tears mix with the blood on his face; not from the pain, but from the heavy loss of so many innocent people. He could only save two. And there must have been thousands killed.

"You did good, kid," one of the policemen said softly. But America shook his head, unable to stop his coughing fit. He suddenly inhaled sharply, trying in a vain attempt to catch his breath. "Easy there. Easy. You inhaled quite a bit of nasty stuff out there."

The firefighter put a mask over America's mouth and nose, giving him some much-needed oxygen through a tube that connected to a big oxygen tank. America breathed deeply in blissful satisfaction. Once he was able to catch his breath enough to speak, he asked, "How…Many?"

The two police officers exchanged a glance, and the firefighter instructed America to hold the mask while he checked up on the two girls. America's breathing sounded like Darth Vadar as all of the countries looked along sympathetically. One of them said, "We aren't sure."

America closed his eyes and shook his head again.

"A noble thing of you to do, though, kid," the other officer said. "We were able to grab a few people ourselves, and your friends got a few in, too." America opened his eyes and looked around a little harder, now that his brain had enough oxygen to function slightly better. There were about twelve other people he didn't know standing amongst the crowd of countries, not including the two he saved himself. None of them looked badly hurt – it was really only him that needed to be taken care of. The woman who he had saved, however, was beginning to gasp for breath next to him.

"Hang on, miss. Just breathe," the firefighter instructed. She nodded, and her daughter cried in the arms of Italy, asking if her mother was going to be okay. America looked down at her a moment, then took off his mask he was wearing.

"Son, don't do that," the firefighter warned, but America paid no mind, instead attaching it to the woman's face gently, trying with all of his faded strength not to pass out at the extra effort. She took a deep breath of the air within the tank, and looked up at America gratefully as he held it in place for her, for it seemed that not only was her one arm wounded, but the second arm appeared twisted in an abnormal way that suggested it was broken. America smiled down at her, feeling the effects of the dust in his lungs once more. He coughed into the elbow that wasn't propping up the woman's mask, but tried to cut it short to try and assure the others that he was fine.

"Look at that," one of the police men whispered in awe. "You're a real hero, kiddo."

"I'm…I'm not a hero, sir…" America wheezed. This surprised the countries, as all they had ever heard from him was how heroic the bold young nation was. He couldn't do anything to protect the other people who were now probably dead somewhere in the remains of the buildings, or the bodies flattened like pancakes along the sides of the perimeters where the towers once stood. He smiled softly at the young girl, still being held by Italy. She beamed back at him with tears glistening in her large brown eyes. "I'm just doing the right thing."

The firefighter and one of the police men began to check up on the others, but the other policeman eyed America with a sparkling curiosity. "Are you really our nation, sir?"

America coughed into his elbow again, feeling some blood splatter onto the sleeve of his now-filthy bomber jacket. "Yep…" he laughed weakly, a sheepish grin on his face. "That's me."

Some of the countries chuckled. England sat next to America and patted his shoulder, Canada sat next to England and grinned proudly at his twin brother, some others nodded, or smiled, or waved, just to show that they were there for him and that they cared and were grateful. Even the humans' smiles gleamed with pride at their personification.

"Well, I couldn't be prouder of my home country than I am now," the police man saluted to America, smiling widely. America chuckled and saluted weakly back.

"And I'm proud of all of my people."

EXTENDED ENDING BROUGHT TO YOU BY FLYING MINT BUNNY:

America stood atop some of the debris, staring at the large masses of rubble and broken steel and glass where just a week ago was once proud towers that represented the world's cooperation and peace. His fellow nations stood behind, watching the scene solemnly as people wandered about, working hard to clean up the remains. Every nation, even the nations who America thought hated every fiber of his being, supported him throughout the five days that had been spent on mourning and cleanup.

All of Canada flew the Canadian flags at half-mast, as did Turkey, France issued a newspaper article with the headline, "Nous sommes tous Américains," a group of more than 200,000 Germans marched through Berlin, the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace played 'The Star Spangled Banner', tens of thousands of Chinese visited the US with flowers, cards, wreaths, and handwritten notes, children in India made signs that read "This is an attack on all of us," the Japanese Prime Minister voiced anger towards the terrorists (seriously, a Japanese man getting angry), even Russia sent their condolences, with non-English speaking women (who had never been to America) sobbing for the losses. Israelis and Palestinians donated blood, the Tehran soccer match held a moment of silence during the game, students in Croatia paused during their classes in a moment of silence, Dublin, Albania, Ireland, Israel, Canada, Croatia, South Korea, and the Czech Republic all declared national days of mourning, Sweden, Norway, and Finland paused their trams and busses, people gathered in public squares to light candles and pray in Azerbaijan, Japan, Greenland, Bulgaria, and Tajikistan, and young South African children sat on adult's shoulders with little American flags clutched in their hands. Firefighters in Hungary tied black ribbons to their trucks, firefighters in South Africa flew the American flag, and firefighters in Poland all sounded their sirens at once. Cubans offered medical support, Ethiopians offered prayers, and Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, and Kazakhstan offered their air space. Hundreds of thousands of people in Canada, Albania, and Sierra Leone marched in the streets, and all of the mosques of Bangladesh, Yemen, Pakistan, Libya and Sudan echoed the denunciations of the clerics, claiming the terrorists to be "cowardly" and "un-Islamic." Lebanese generals signed letters of sympathy, Pope John Paul II fell to his knees in prayer, the bells of Notre Dame resonated throughout Paris, racecar drivers in Italy (during the Italian Grand Prix) silenced their engines, hundreds stood silently in London during the midday carillons of Big Ben, people in Belgium formed a human chain in front of the Brussels World Trade Center by holding hands, Indonesians gathered to pray on a beach, and church bells chimed in unity in Austria.

It was a rare time of peace in the world, ironically, and America was more than appreciative of everything they had done for him. They stood slightly behind him still, the horrific sight still not seeming to penetrate their conscious mind, but America stood before them, staring down at something bright yellow under a large piece of lightweight metal. He bent down cautiously (he was still stiff and sore) and moved the metal with ease, picking up the object that caught his attention.

A firefighter's helmet.

America looked down at it for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought. The owner was nowhere to be seen, did he die? The numbers were now clear, 2,996 innocent people were killed, and another approximate 6,000 were injured. The 19 hijackers didn't count in America's eyes – they deserved to die. 2,606 of them were from the World Trade Center, 246 of them were from the airlines, and 125 of them were from the Pentagon. 343 of them were firefighters, 62 of them police or paramedics. 1,609 people lost a partner or spouse, and 3,051 children lost at least one parent. 20% of Americans knew someone killed in this attack. This man was one of the 343 firefighters.

"America, lad?" England walked up to America, noticing what he was holding. "What did you find there?"

America looked down at it for a moment longer, before turning to England. Some of the many people who were volunteering to help clean up stopped to see their nation standing amongst them, holding what remained of a man who risked his life to help others.

"This," America showed him, "is the remnants of a true hero. He wasn't Superman or Batman or Captain America. He was a regular guy who died helping his people. _He _was someone who deserved to be in the comic books."

England began to tear up a little, but blinked it away. He smiled at America. "Don't worry, lad. You're a strong country. And I'm proud of you. You're a true hero, too."

America smiled weakly, turning around to watch the volunteers in front of him all pause what they were doing and, in unison, salute to him. The countries all walked in front of him, too, lining up (except Britain, who was still standing next to America) and saluting. America took off his glasses a moment, wiping away a tear, before putting them back on and saluting in return.

"God bless America," England mumbled, saluting to America as well, a bright smile on his face.

America's hand fell a little to the side as he glanced over at England, surprised at the statement but overjoyed, nonetheless. "God bless you too."

**Author's Note:**

I know this is really…REALLY late, but…I suppose I think about 9/11 more often than just one month of the year, and I had never even lost anyone close to me on that tragic day. But I still cry when I watch the videos our history teachers show us in school on that day. I live about two hours away from New York City, so it was pretty devastating here.

I know that this type of Hetalia thing has been done before _over_ and _over_ again, but I never really saw what the countries did to help. **EVERYTHING THAT I LISTED THAT THE COUNTRIES DID FOR THE 9/11 ARE TRUE. **Seriously, Google it. I also noticed that it was known before the plane actually crashed that the planes were hijacked, and that people were trying everything they could to get the plane down before it was too late. Some of them did, others, obviously, didn't. I feel that America's secretaries wouldn't have told him the full story, but would be well aware of what the American government is hiding up their dirty sleeves (don't shoot me for that sentence, either, cuz I'm as patriotic as the American next door, with my whole family having been in the military). I also didn't like how in every single oneshot about Hetalia's 9/11, America just, like, passed out or cried or something. I feel that he would do anything in his power to help, but that it couldn't be much, because if he was able to do more, he could have.

I also hated some of the sick irony I put in here, like when America asked if anyone was hurt, and his secretaries replied no. I almost punched myself in the face for making that. But I kept it, because I feel America wouldn't just laugh it off, and would at least want to know how his people were doing.

I'm not trying to make America the hero without flaws, for those of you who hate when someone makes their story's completely OOC. Honestly, love him to death, but he isn't my favorite character (*coughEnglandcoughcough*), and he has his flaws. I showed this to my friend, who is completely OBSESSED with America, and she hid under our lunch table and cried.

I also wanted, for those of you reading this who are not American or who know little about the attack, that almost all American's point of view on who is a 'hero' really changed after this attack. All of the children (myself, included) wanted to be some sort of superhero with awesome powers (I wanted to be able to talk to animals), but after this attack, we all wanted to be policemen or firefighters or doctors or join the military. We really got a sense of who a true hero is, as America did here.

Let me know how I did! I really love to hear from you!

And to all of those people who died, to the dog Sirius, too, whom most people don't know about (who also died in the South Tower as a service dog), and to the families, friends, and loved ones of people who died or witnessed this tragic event;

God bless.

~Dreampainter

TRANSLATIONS:

_Nous sommes tous Américains _– We are all Americans

_Angleterre _- England


End file.
